Rated Teen (13+)
Roses of Another Sort
By L.A.Parker

     "What a woman," whispered Henry as he stared at his picture of Rebecca.  She was beautiful.  Tall, lean, dark hair, Native American on her mother's side, she was gorgeous.  Henry had loved her for three years.  She was an artist who saw everything as beautiful and painted the world in ways he had never seen.

     Henry remembered the first time he saw her smile.  It was the day he met her in front of the post office, she had smiled widely for him with her full lips, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.  When he saw her, he knew that she was the one.  

     Henry walked into the living room of his apartment to check if everything was ready, tucking his favorite picture of Rebecca into his pocket.  He was wearing his best suit and tie today because he wanted everything to be perfect.  Today was the day that he was going to change everything for her.  

     He walked into the room and spotted the two bouquets of roses.  On the surface of the table lay a dozen white roses and a dozen red.  First he had to run his errand and then he could see Rebecca.  He picked up the flowers and headed out of his apartment, making sure he locked the door on his way out.  First he would see Cynthia today, and then he would find Rebecca.

     Cynthia was his previous girlfriend.  He had thought the world of her but he had rushed into things too fast.  He had only waited a few months before he became serious with her and she wasn't ready.  She was everything Rebecca was not.  She was a Math teacher at the nearby high school, with blonde hair and green eyes.  She too had a beautiful smile but she had broken his heart when she had pretended not to know him.  He had brought her a bouquet of red roses as well, the day he waited for her to come home from work.  He waited inside her house with the spare key and when she had arrived home she was frightened.  He didn't understand why, even now he thought everything had been done right.  But she wasn't Rebecca. 
 
     Henry held his arm out and waited for the yellow cab to stop.  It pulled smoothly next to the curb and he got in.

     "Where to?" asked the cab driver.

     "Emerson Cemetery," said Henry with a smile.  He enjoyed car rides, even if his destination was a little bleak.  He pulled out his picture of Rebecca and tried to focus on her large brown eyes.  He took this picture a week after he met her, the sunlight was shining through her dark hair and her eyes were sparkling with excitement.  She had just opened her exhibit and he had gone everyday to see it. 
 
     The cab pulled to a stop at the cemetery entrance and he paid the driver and got out.  The day was warm and bright as he walked up the small hill to the place he visited every week.  He held both sets of roses in each hand and passed by several tombstones.  He stopped at the one that used to mean something to him.

     Cynthia Lee Davenport, was the name written on the marker.  Beloved Teacher, Wife, and Mother.  

     Henry placed the one dozen, white roses in front of the grave and stared at the name briefly.

     "You brought this on yourself you know," said Henry flatly.  And she had.

     She had toyed with him for months, making him think she loved him.  The way she walked and spoke and smiled … it drove him crazy.  The day he had gone to see her she was wearing a yellow dress.  Her husband had not arrived home yet, and her children were off at her mother's house for the weekend.  Henry had never cared about her husband Michael, he had only wanted Cynthia.  Months and months he wasted searching for the right moment to approach her.  

     He knew she took a break at 2:30 p.m., and that she had her nails done on Wednesdays.  Her favorite color was red, and she loved Italian food.  Henry had remembered the way she walked without a care in the world, and that was what drove him wild.

     The day he had gone to meet her, he had waited for an hour before she had gotten home.  When she had walked through the door, she didn't see him at first, and even took several steps before turning on the light. 
 
     He had brought her the most beautiful red roses available and had presented them to her, but when she saw him, she screamed.  He never understood why Cynthia tried to run away and he had to hold her back from the door as she continued to scream.  Why had she done this to him?  Henry the only man who could have loved her for who she really was!

     Henry turned away from the grave and walked back down the small hill.  
     When he felt Cynthia's soft skin against his he couldn't help but hold onto her.  But she wouldn't stop screaming.

     Cynthia begged Henry to let go, screaming something about having a husband and children, but Henry had already known all of that!  He had even forgiven her for her mistake.  But when she bit him, Henry saw her for what she really was, a whore.

     She had never loved him!  Months, she had played with him walking down the street near her work, talking on the phone, the way she meticulously picked the roses from her garden.  That was why he had brought them to her!  He knew how Cynthia loved red roses.  

     But the moment she bit him, Henry knew it was all a lie.  That's why he had to hit her.

     He had to beat her.  He had to make her understand what she had done.  Oh how she cried and begged for him to stop.

     Henry held his hand out to hail another cab.  One pulled up and he got in with his red roses.

     "Where can I take you to?" asked the driver.  Henry repeated Rebecca's address.

     Cynthia was nothing like Rebecca.  She deserved for him to hit her.  He had to.

     When her blonde hair was streaked in blood, it still wasn't enough for Henry.  He had to crush her head against that table.  She had bled all over his roses and had even tried to trick Henry again.

     "Please … Please stop … I'll do anything you want!" Cynthia had cried with tears and blood running down her face.  But how could Henry stop when he knew she was lying?

     That was when he really threw her head against the table.  And when he did, Cynthia had stopped breathing.  When her skull cracked completely open and pink and red things poured out onto the floor, Henry thought of how ugly she looked.

     How could he have loved such an ugly woman?  A woman who lied to him for months?

     Henry had learned his lesson this time.  He knew when he saw Rebecca for the first time that he had to take things slow.  And he had.  

     It was three years ago today, that Rebecca had held the door open for him at the post office she went to, and she had smiled.  He knew then that he loved her.

     The cab pulled up to the apartment complex that Rebecca lived in. 
 
     Henry paid the driver and got out, wearing his best suit and tie, and carried the one dozen, most beautiful red roses that he could find.  He kept his picture of her in his pocket.  

     Henry didn't cry when he left Cynthia on the floor of her house.  He simply left the red roses he had brought her on the floor with her and walked out the front door.  He had walked home that night, and when she was buried, he watched from a distance as the lying whore was lowered into the ground with her husband and children in tears.  He had left the funeral early and went back once a week with a dozen white roses.  He didn't love her anymore, but he wanted her to know that he still cared for her, even after he found Rebecca.  

     Henry knew that Rebecca would understand how kind hearted he could be.

     Today was the day that he would speak with Rebecca.  He checked his watch and knew that she should be heading home from her exhibition any minute now.  

     He walked up the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to apartment 7B.

     He had made sure to make a copy of Rebecca's key after she had left it at the exhibition several months ago, and he had gone in several times to make sure she had been taking good care of herself.  She had slept like an angel each and every time.

     But not today.  Today he would speak with her.  He would give her his red roses and she would be overjoyed that he had waited so patiently for her.

     Henry stood in the living room and waited for Rebecca.  It wasn't long before he heard the key turn in the lock.

     He had kept the lights off, to surprise her.

     Rebecca opened the door and walked in wearing a beautiful white dress.  She placed her purse onto the table and kept her back to him as she placed her keys onto a hook.  Henry stared at her beautiful hair as it fell down to her waist.  It was as dark as night against her white dress and brown skin.

     Rebecca turned around and jumped.  Henry assumed he had startled her.

     "Darling I-" began Henry holding out the roses for her.

     "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU?" screamed Rebecca in terror as she backed herself up against the wall.

     Why was she doing this to him?  Today was their anniversary!

     "Rebecca I brought you these roses for our anniversary," said Henry.  She must have forgotten, but Henry was a forgiving man.

     "What anniversary?  How did you get inside my apartment?" Rebecca reached for the door and Henry ran to stop her from leaving.  She must be upset at him for making her wait all these years.

     The moment Henry had grabbed a hold of her beautiful body, Rebecca began to struggle and scream.

     "LET ME GO!" she cried.  Why would Henry do that when they were finally together?  He held her warm body against his.

     Rebecca screamed again and raised her fist and beat against his chest.  Then she scratched his face.

     "GET OFF OF ME YOU PSYCHO!" she yelled as she shoved him away from her.

     She was just like Cynthia.  She had been lying to him all along.

     Rebecca ran for the door but Henry stopped her and slapped her face, hard.  She fell to the floor with a shriek and tried to head for the door.  Henry hit her again.

     Just then someone banged on the door.

     "This is the police!" yelled a deep voice of a man.

     "HELP!" screamed Rebecca.  Henry went to cover her mouth and got on top of her.  There was a loud banging against the door, and Henry hit Rebecca with his fist.

     Her head was bleeding but she was still struggling.  Henry knew she had lied to him but he still wanted her.  He ripped at her white dress.

     "NO!" she screamed as she tried to push Henry off.  The frame of the door cracked, and Rebecca screamed again.

     Henry had to do this, they had to be together!  He had loved her all of this time, she would understand once they made love.  Henry pulled at her dress again and saw the bare skin of her thighs.  Her skin was smooth and soft.

     "NO! STOP! LET ME GO!" Rebecca screamed, kicking Henry hard.  Too hard.  Henry fell back, slightly but just as she tried to crawl to the door, he grabbed her ankle and shoved her against the floor with his body.

     The door flew open and several men ran in.  Henry didn't care; he wanted to be with Rebecca, to show her his love.

     Someone grabbed him from behind, and a man shoved him away from Rebecca.  She was pulled away and taken out through the door.

     Henry struggled but someone was choking him from behind.  He had to get to Rebecca but he couldn't see her anymore.  Her beautiful body had been taken away from him!  He didn't even have the chance to make love to her, to make her understand how he felt.

     A man twisted his arms behind his back and was saying something.  A riddle maybe?

     "You have the right to remain silent," said the man.  Henry didn't like him, he wanted Rebecca.

     "Where's Rebecca?"  Henry asked in confusion.

     "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law," continued the man who hoisted him off of the ground.  Henry didn't struggle but looked around wildly for Rebecca.  He turned to one of the several men in the room and decided to ask again.

     "Where's Rebecca?" the other man didn't answer and Henry tried to run but couldn't.  Several pairs of hands held on tightly.

     "REBECCA!" he screamed as the men shoved him out of her apartment.  They continued down the stairs with Henry when he realized that he had left the bouquet of roses inside.

     Henry looked back through the open door of Rebecca's apartment.   The roses were scattered on the bloodstained floor, withered and broken.

     "REBECCA!" cried Henry again, as he was forced down the stairs.  Where was she?

     Henry called her name again as he was forced into the police car.  She had left his flowers on the floor, with broken stems, and scattered, red petals.

     How could Henry love her, when she had left his roses on the floor to die?

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